


Style and Substance

by JanuaryGrey (Jan3693)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fix-It, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Shopping, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban, dressing room snogging, the clothes are metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-20 13:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16556273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jan3693/pseuds/JanuaryGrey
Summary: Remus takes Sirius shopping in hopes of recapturing some of their lost youth. Instead, they end up finding something old and something new.





	Style and Substance

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Muse and Moony for running this fest.

Remus emerged from the Leaky Cauldron’s fireplace and cast a quick glance around the pub. It was late morning, and the pub was practically empty. The lodgers from the previous night having eaten their breakfast and cleared out already, and the lunch rush hadn’t yet started. That was good, Remus thought as the flames flashed green behind him. A second later, Sirius stumbled out. 

He staggered, and Remus forgot everything else for a moment as he reached out to catch him. The shoulder beneath his hand was still terribly thin, but the contact, even through the layers of borrowed clothes Sirius wore, made Remus’s heart beat a little faster.

“Sorry,” Sirius mumbled, reaching up to brush soot out of his hair. He flashed Remus a quick, slightly self-conscious grin. “I haven’t done that in a while. Forgot how dizzying Floo-travel can be…” 

Remus let go of his shoulder once Sirius had his legs back under him. He took a step away, well aware that the few people who were scattered around the bar were all staring at the two of them now. The novelty of Sirius Black, free and innocent and in their midst, still hadn’t worn off, even though they’d been lying low at Remus’s small, isolated cottage for almost a month now. 

Thankfully, most of the stares now seemed curious rather than fearful, though Remus still saw Sirius go tense. His jaw clenched and his fingers twitched as though he expected insults or rotten vegetables to start flying in his direction at any moment. He didn’t draw his wand or send a rude gesture in anyone’s direction though, so Remus counted that as a victory.

“Come on, Padfoot, we’re not here for a drink,” Remus said. He put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder again and led him away from the fireplace.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” Sirius asked as he followed Remus out of the Leaky Cauldron, not into the back courtyard toward Diagon Alley, but through the front door into Muggle London. It was a bright, sunny day, though the breeze carried a crispness that said autumn had officially arrived. The Hogwarts school year had started just two weeks ago, and this year both Remus and Sirius had been on the platform to see Harry off.

“Really, Remus, where are we going?” Sirius asked when Remus didn’t answer his original question. There was a teasing note in his voice that was achingly familiar. Remus could almost imagine if he turned around, he would find the last thirteen years had melted away and the Sirius of his memories would be standing behind him, smiling and whole. He didn’t turn around, but Remus did smile, feeling a bit of his own old mischief bubbling up. 

“It’s a surprise, Padfoot,” Remus said. He reached back and Sirius automatically took hold of his hand, his fingers slipping between Remus’s own. There was a twisting sensation in Remus’s chest that almost reminded him of apparition Things between them were…confusing these days. 

After Sirius’s trial, and his acquittal, Remus had made a decision, one he’d thought was right. He’d promised himself that he would be Sirius’s friend again. Friends, first and foremost. Anything else, any old, unresolved feelings that had been burbling back up since that night in the Shrieking Shack were irrelevant. Sirius had enough on his plate right now, juggling his freedom and all the complications that had come with that. He needed a friend right now, not an ex-lover poking around in the ashes of the past to see if there were any embers left from their old flame.

That was what Remus had promised himself, and for weeks he’d held to that promise. He’d helped Sirius get back on his feet, made sure he remembered all the little things that had been stolen from him by years in Azkaban. They’d grown close again, learned to laugh again. 

Together, they remembered. 

And as they did, it became more and more difficult to just be Sirius’s friend. 

Sometimes, he thought Sirius felt the same way, though neither of them said a word on the subject. Perhaps too much still lay between them, old fears and resentments and guilt, so much guilt. Remus was terrified that they would be like this forever, friends but always dancing on the edge of disaster or something more. 

Merlin, it was the first half of their sixth year all over again.

Maybe that was why he’d decided on this surprise outing. Part of it was practical, of course. Sirius had come away from his trial with nothing but the prison robes on his back. Since then, Sirius had bought a few robes, but he’d always had a penchant for Muggle clothes at home, which now resulted in him raiding Remus’s meager wardrobe for jumpers and trousers that did not fit him well at all. Seeing Sirius’s emaciated form in his own patched and frayed clothing hurt Remus. The one only made the other look more worn and heartbreaking. 

There was also a part of Remus that was nostalgic, almost pathetically so. He longed to see Sirius properly clothed, to see him wander through the cottage in old band t-shirts and stovepipe jeans. There was no going back in time for them, but hopefully they could bring some of the past into the present.

They walked quite a way, passing along the busy streets of Charing Cross and winding their way north. Remus had considered taking the Tube. It would have been quicker, but he wasn’t sure how Sirius would have managed the crowds and the windowless underground stations. So, they walked. 

The exercise was good for them both anyway. Sirius had started putting some weight back on, but he needed to rebuild muscle as well. 

“Close your eyes,” Remus said when they finally drew close to their destination. It was just around the corner, but he wanted to make the surprise as complete as possible. He wanted to see the look on Sirius’s face when he realized where they were.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “And to think, _I_ used to be the dramatic one,” he muttered even though he smiled and obeyed, even raising a hand to cover his eyes. 

Holding Sirius’s other hand, Remus guided him carefully around the corner. A few Muggles gave them curious or even disapproving glances, but that was all. This was one thing that had changed for the better over the years. Certainly, there was still some danger walking hand-in-hand with another man, but the risks felt smaller, and the reward, well, that felt nice. Even if it did go against the promise he’d made himself.

A bell tinkled above the shop door as Remus pushed it open, holding it for Sirius as he took his first few steps inside. Remus maneuvered him out of the doorway and turned him in the right direction before pulling the hand away from his eyes.

“All right, you can look now,” Remus whispered in his ear. Clearly amused, Sirius blinked and regarded the place Remus had brought him. 

“A clothing store,” Sirius said. He didn’t sound terribly excited. Remus winced. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. 

Then Sirius saw it. His eyes went wide and he gasped, taking several steps forward as though pulled by an invisible rope.

“Oh, Moony,” he whispered as he reached for the leather jacket hanging on a mannequin. His hands ran down the sleeves almost reverently.

This was more the reaction Remus had expected. He followed Sirius to the display and gestured vaguely to the long racks beyond it. “It’s a second-hand shop,” he explained, “but it’s a good one, and they specialize in vintage and alternative clothing styles.”

Tearing his eyes away from the black leather jacket, Sirius gaped at the variety beyond the display. 

“Oh, Moony,” he said again. Turning suddenly, he threw his arms around Remus, nearly toppling them both to the floor. “This is fantastic!”

Remus laughed as he disentangled himself from Sirius’s embrace, terrified that he might start blushing at any moment. Really, there should be an age limit on blushing like a bloody schoolchild. 

“It’s hardly an act of charity,” Remus dissembled. “You can’t keep wearing my clothes, and robes are fine some of the time, but you always liked Muggle clothes, so I thought…”

“It’s perfect,” Sirius said.

And then he was off, hurrying down aisles, digging through racks for t-shirts and jeans and all the accoutrements. Remus followed him, after getting a shop worker to take the leather jacket off its mannequin. Soon enough, Remus’s arms were laden with clothes and he was basking in Sirius’s excitement, memories rushing back to both of them.

“I used to have this exact shirt!” Sirius exclaimed, holding up a black t-shirt with a band logo and other iconography on it. “Queen, the Game Tour. We couldn’t get tickets so we apparated in to see them at Wembley, do you remember, Remus?”

He did. It had been a good show. For all that he’d never loved music as deeply as Sirius, Remus had enjoyed himself that night, packed tight with other concert-goers, his arm around Sirius’s waist as they screamed lyrics, their voices lost beneath the speakers and the roar of the crowds. 

More than anything, he was glad Sirius remembered it. The longer he spent away from Azkaban and its guards, the more good memories Sirius seemed to unearth, but they both feared that some things had been lost forever.

“I remember,” Remus said, adding his recollections to Sirius’s own. “I wanted to get you tickets for Christmas, but they sold out, so we snuck in. Probably breaking a few laws and endangering the Statute of Secrecy along the way.”

“Definitely worth it though,” Sirius said, flashing that devilish grin that used to twist Remus’s stomach into knots. He tried to tell himself the sensation he felt now was just indigestion.

By the time they’d worked their way through several long racks, Sirius decided he had enough to take to the dressing rooms at the back of the store. After depositing his armload into the small room, Remus waited outside.

And waited. 

And waited.

He’d expected Sirius to come bursting out of the dressing room within thirty seconds of closing the door, grinning as he showed off a new outfit. That was what the old Sirius would have done. 

Remus cursed himself for that thought, and for his own slip. Sirius had changed. They both had. He had to stop assuming that Sirius’s actions and reactions now would be the same as they would have been twelve years ago. That wasn’t fair to either of them.

“Padfoot?” Remus called as he knocked on the dressing room door. “Everything all right in there? Please tell me you’re not stuck in a pair of those ridiculously tight jeans at least.”

Both his concern and his poor attempt at a joke were met with silence. Remus felt his anxiety creep higher with every second until he was almost ready to tear open the door with his bare hands. “Sirius,” he said. “You’re starting to worry me. Can you please open the door?”

The flimsy little latch holding the door closed flipped open. Remus forced a smile, knowing his own worry would only make whatever was wrong worse for Sirius. The smile fell off his face in an instant though as he beheld the chaos inside the dressing room.

T-shirts and trousers littered the floor, discarded carelessly, almost violently. Sirius sat in the midst of it all. He was wearing a pair of charcoal grey stovepipe jeans and the Queen t-shirt beneath the leather jacket and staring miserably at his reflection in a long mirror hanging on the opposite wall.

“Sirius, what’s wrong?” Remus asked, moving to his friend’s side and dropping to one knee to put himself on Sirius’s level. Sirius instantly turned away, dropping his head to hide his face behind a curtain of dark hair. He muttered something so quietly Remus couldn’t make out the words.

“Padfoot, please, I want to help…” Remus begged. He wanted to pull Sirius into his arms, to hold him close and make everything all right. He was afraid to reach out and even touch Sirius though. What if he made things worse? 

“It’s…it’s nothing,” Sirius said, his voice wobbling. He tried to laugh as he raised his head enough for a hand to flash up and swipe at his eyes. Remus pretended he didn’t see the tears, but he refused to let Sirius brush this off entirely.

“It’s all right, you know. It’s all right if it’s not nothing,” Remus winced at his own grammar but didn’t correct himself. 

“I’m being ridiculous, Remus, it really is nothing, just…” He trailed off, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes again. Remus waited patiently though, and finally, Sirius sighed and said, “I’m not twenty-one anymore.”

On the surface, it was an absolutely ridiculous statement. Of course he wasn’t twenty-one anymore. There was so much more lurking beneath the surface of that comment though. This probably wasn’t going to be a quick fix, and the dressing room in a vintage clothing store was not the right place for it, but it was what Remus had to work with. 

Pulling out his wand, Remus cast a few quick charms that would keep their conversation private and make the Muggle shop attendants temporarily forget about the dressing room at the end of the hallway. Then he shifted so he could sit down next to Sirius. On the way to the floor, his right knee popped and his back twinged, like they were both agreeing with what Remus was going to say next. 

“I’m not twenty-one anymore either,” Remus said as he settled next to Sirius, meeting his miserable gaze in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Remus couldn’t help the small, cynical smile that twisted his lips at their joint reflection. The grey in his hair was continuing its steady conquest over the brown, and despite both sleeping and eating better of late, he still looked ill around the edges. By contrast, Sirius’s painful gauntness seemed almost sprightly.

Sirius folded forward, drawing his knees to his chest and pressing his forehead to them. “I know,” he said, voice muffled by the jeans. “I know that, and honestly, most of the time I feel like I’m closer to a hundred years old than twenty, but sometimes when…when I’m happy…I forget. I forget that I’m missing almost twelve years.”

Remus’s chest ached with that pain that was becoming all too familiar so quickly. He shifted to the side, intending to pull Sirius into a hug. The reflection of the motion in the mirror caught him though, and Remus froze. He wasn’t supposed to just do that anymore. 

_Friends hug._ A wheedling voice that almost sounded like James whispered in his head. _You hugged Sirius long before you started dating him, and he needs comfort now._

Still, Remus couldn’t quite overcome the tangle of feelings and impulses. He turned the hug into a single hand laid on Sirius’s hunched shoulder.

“Azkaban…it was…there’s just nothing there,” Sirius said. His voice was thick, and he shivered beneath Remus’s hand. “It was outside of time. The days and weeks and years all blended into each other, and when I wasn’t Padfoot I was lost in my worst memories. So now—when I don’t feel like I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes worth of everything bad that ever happened in my life played on repeat through my head—when things feel all right…sometimes I forget that any time has passed at all. I forget, but…” 

Sirius lifted his head enough to glare at the mirror. Yes, Remus realized as he regarded Sirius’s scowling reflection, there were signs of age there among the marks of Azkaban. Crow’s feet at the corners of Sirius’s eyes, the beginnings of lines that showed across his forehead and around his mouth. They were slight—amazingly so, given everything Sirius had been through—but all the more obvious now that he was clean-shaven and beginning to put weight back on. 

“I sound like a whiny little brat, don’t I?” Sirius said, managing a self-deprecating scoff. “It’s really not a big deal, it’s just the clothes…they don’t look right anymore. They don’t feel right either. Even if I forget it sometimes, I’m not that stupid twenty-one-year-old boy clomping around in black leather, big boots, and ripped jeans.”

“It’s all right to feel upset about it, Padfoot,” Remus assured his friend. The hand he’d laid on Sirius’s shoulder had somehow moved to his back and was rubbing circles between Sirius’ shoulder blades. “No one likes getting old, and you’ve far better reasons to complain about it than most people. I’ve certainly had my moments. I even tried Muggle hair dye to cover my grey one time about four years ago. What a complete disaster that was. I turned a patchy sort of ginger for a month.”

His heart leapt when he succeeded in wringing a watery chuckle out of Sirius. Then, Sirius sighed and leaned against him, Remus’s heart gave another treacherous flutter, but he swallowed it back down.

“This store sells more than just band t-shirts, tight trousers, and leather jackets, you know,” Remus said. “Maybe you should try some different things, find a new look. Something that you’re comfortable in but that reflects the slightly mature adult you are now.”

This time Sirius let out a full bark of laughter, even if it was followed by a sniffle. “That’s not a bad idea, Moony, for either of us,” Sirius said. His smile developed a sly edge to it as he picked at the fraying edges of a hole in Remus’s sleeve. 

_Clever bastard,_ Remus thought to himself. Sirius had more Slytherin in him than either of them would ever admit. He wrinkled his nose, pride prickling like an itch along his spine, but today at least, Remus let Sirius win.

“You’re not wrong,” Remus said with a sigh. “I suppose I could use a new shirt or maybe a jumper.”

It was like someone had thrown a switch. Sirius’s face lit up, and he scrambled to his feet, pulling Remus up with him. “You need more than that, Remus,” he said brightly. “You also need new trousers, some shoes that aren’t worn thin in the soles, and probably a new winter coat as well.”

They left the dressing room, Remus hastily gathering up the clothes Sirius had discarded on the floor and handing them over to a shop attendant with profuse apologies. Sirius was already back among the racks of clothing, hunting through shirts and trousers with an appraising eye.

Remus would have been happy just watching Sirius piece together a new part of himself through clothing, but Sirius wouldn’t allow it. He’d taken Remus’s grudging acquiescence regarding a new shirt as an invitation to find entire wardrobes for both of them, herding Remus into a dressing room with armloads of shirts, trousers, jumpers, and jackets, some of which were definitely outside of his current style. 

Honestly, it was impossible not to get caught up in Sirius’s happiness though. He really was the human equivalent of a dog, infectiously joyful and tenacious.

Freed from the monochrome palette of his punk rock youth, Sirius turned out to have a rather eccentric sense of style. He still handled Muggle clothes better than most pureblood wizards, knowing what pieces to fit together into an outfit and avoiding obvious missteps and faux pas. However, the end result was still something Remus could only describe as archaically flamboyant, like a Victorian gentleman seen through the kaleidoscope of the 1970s. 

Sirius liked waistcoats, especially if they were jewel-toned or striped. He also liked blazers and sport coats, especially if they were richly colored and made of silk or velvet. He liked shirts with confounding patterns and pinstriped trousers that were still a little tight, but he did not like neckties or suspenders. The outfits Sirius put together were chaotic and full of contrasts, but somehow, when he smiled, straightened his shoulders, and tugged lightly at his lapels, it all seemed to work perfectly.

They shared the dressing room. 

It was large enough for them both if they were careful with their elbows and knees, and Remus wanted to be close at hand in case Sirius had another breakdown. There were problems with the arrangement though, ones that went beyond Sirius accidentally smacking him in the face with a shirtsleeve. 

Remus’s problems were, in fact, twofold. The first was that despite having just comforted Sirius over his insecurities, Remus felt his own self-confidence wither as he pulled off his shirt. Sirius definitely wasn’t the only one who’d aged. Remus knew he was thin, though not so terribly malnourished as Sirius, but his ribs and spine were clear ridges beneath his skin, and his skin…

Sirius had seen him naked so many times when they were young men. He knew about Remus’s scars; he’d kissed and licked and nuzzled every inch of them many times over, trying to prove to Remus that they didn’t repulse him. There were twelve years of new scars marring his body though. Twelve long years and over one hundred and fifty full moons with no Padfoot and Prongs and Wormtail to distract the wolf or lead him on adventures in the Forbidden Forest. Remus didn’t want to see those scars in the mirror, nor did he want to see Sirius’s reaction when _he_ saw them.

Sirius’s reaction, however, wasn’t something he could avoid by looking away. Instead of the horror Remus had imagined, he felt arms wrap around him from behind and the tickle of Sirius’s hair against his cheek as the other man laid his head on Remus’s shoulder. “Oh, Moony…I wish I’d been there,” Sirius whispered. Then his fingers were there, splayed across Remus’s stomach, following a long, jagged line that cut Remus from navel to hip.

It was too much. 

Remus couldn’t breathe as he tore himself out of Sirius’s arms, stumbling over piles of discarded clothing littering the floor. He braced himself against a hook on the wall, trembling all the way down to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said frantically, “I shouldn’t have done that. I know you don’t want—I know we’re not…I know we’re not twenty-one anymore…”

He wasn’t talking about growing old this time. 

Remus turned around to face his second problem. Sirius stood before him, head hanging like a kicked dog. His shoulders slumped so far down the open mustard colored shirt he’d been trying on was practically falling off of them. If Remus’s ribs were ridges beneath his skin, Sirius’s were mountains, with valleys sunk between them. 

They weren’t twenty-one, either of them. They were wreckages at the age of thirty-three, battered and broken and both far more fragile than they would ever let on, and Remus wanted to kiss Sirius more than he wanted to keep breathing. 

That, of course, was a terrible idea. 

“We’re different people now,” Remus said, as much to himself as to Sirius. “I mean, you’re wearing shirts with buttons on them now.”

Sirius laughed. They both did, the tension easing again.

“You’re still wearing jumpers with elbow patches though,” Sirius pointed out.

Remus reached out and pulled the green jumper he had been planning to try on off its hanger. It did indeed have leather elbow patches. “Not everything changes,” Remus said, clutching the jumper to his chest rather than putting it on.

“Good, that’s good,” Sirius said, nodding. “I like you in your elbow patch jumpers, Remus…but I think I’d like you in jumpers without them, or in robes, or jeans, or even a leather jacket of your own.” 

He said the words slowly, carefully, as if he were trying to make sure Remus understood what he was really saying. Remus swallowed. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this, that it was better for both of them to just be friends.

Was that really what Remus wanted though? It certainly seemed like Sirius wanted more.

Letting the jumper he held fall to the floor, Remus stepped closer and tugged the edges of Sirius’s shirt together. “I think,” he said as he began to button it from the bottom up. “That I like this shirt on you. It makes you look all grown up, but it’s still bright and a bit on the wild side. It suits you.”

Sirius stood quietly, arms at his sides, while Remus worked his way up, buttoning his shirt closed, but when he reached for the last one, Sirius’s hands rose to stop him. Their fingers intertwined as Sirius pulled Remus’s hands away from his shirt. Remus watched the open collar of Sirius’s shirt, noting the movement of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. 

Then there was no distance between them at all.

It was, without a doubt, the clumsiest kiss of Remus’s life. Lips and teeth and tongues all seemed to be in the wrong places at the wrong times. Somehow Remus wound up with Sirius’s hair in his mouth and neither of them seemed to know where to put their noses. 

What they lacked in finesse though, they made up for with enthusiasm. Remus pushed until Sirius’s back hit the mirror. His hands were fisted in Sirius’s newly buttoned shirt, holding him close, while Sirius’s fingers slid up Remus’s bare back, nails scraping against his spine. One of Sirius’s legs slipped between Remus’s and it took everything he had to keep from rutting against Sirius’s thigh like an idiot teenager.

Remus’s lips missed Sirius’s mouth, scraping instead along the stubble of his jaw instead. Like that, Remus was kissing a trail down Sirius’s neck, suddenly thankful for the button they’d left undone. It was one fewer he would have to undo now. 

Just as Remus reached up to fumble with the next button, Sirius stopped his hands again. He gently pushed Remus back, though Sirius didn’t let go of him entirely. He kept hold of Remus’s hands, as if he expected Remus to try and flee if he let go entirely. It wasn’t an entirely unwarranted assumption. 

Sirius’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the mirror. Remus stared at him, wondering if he should pull away and run before Sirius could tell him that this was a mistake. Someone’s hands were trembling, though Remus couldn’t say if it was his or Sirius’s, locked together as tightly as they were.

“This is…a conversation,” Sirius said. “One we should not have in a bloody dressing room using shirts as metaphors for our feelings.”

Remus was impressed. It was a measured, responsible response. The button-up shirt really did suit Sirius. 

“You’re right,” Remus said. He nodded, leaning forward until his forehead bumped against Sirius’s. They were close enough to breathe the same air, but neither tried to resume their kiss. This was enough, for now at least. This was an admission, an icebreaker. 

“This is a conversation I want to have though,” Remus added. He squeezed Sirius’s hands to emphasize the point. Sirius nodded against Remus, a small smile curving one corner of his lips as he released Remus’s hands. 

“Metaphors aside, we do still have a lot of clothes to try on,” Sirius said, gesturing to the piles of clothing they’d scattered all over as they knocked around the dressing room. 

“Right,” Remus said. He was blushing again, but this time he didn’t mind it half so much as he had before. The green jumper lay at his feet, and he bent down to pick it up, freezing halfway down at the sound of a zipper, right before Sirius’s trousers fell in a heap around his ankles. Remus stared at Sirius’s ankles, terrified that if he looked any higher, he’d forget all about that conversation they needed to have.

“Right,” Remus repeated, grabbing several more items off the floor. “I’m going to use the other dressing room.” Sirius’s loud, bark-like laughter followed him out the door as he fled.

When they were both fully dressed, Remus reentered Sirius’s stall and they stood shoulder to shoulder so they were both visible in the mirror again. This time though, they were both smiling.

“You look good, Moony,” Sirius said. 

“ _We_ look good,” Remus corrected him.

And they did. They contrasted, Remus in a brown tweed jacket over the dark green knit jumper, and Sirius in a plum velvet jacket, rust colored waistcoat and his mustard shirt, still unbuttoned at the throat. They’d always contrasted though, and somehow it had always worked. 

Looking at their reflections standing side by side, Remus believed they could make it work again.


End file.
